Scenario 273
by Carnage
Summary: Just a quick story about John and Cameron, and Cameron's efforts to get their friendship back on track. This was meant to be inserted just after Self Made Man, but can probably go anywhere after Mr Ferguson is Ill Today


(A/N: Haven't proofread this, literally mind-vomited this onto the screen. It's been rattling in my head, and I think this fits in somewhere during the current episode (Self Made Man) . I'm all for a Cameron/John pairing, and am totally stoked to see how they pull it off, if they do, and don't go the whole 'Cameron betrays them at the very end of the series cementing John's hatred of machines' route. This was just my idea of trying to be in character Cameron. I dunno how well I did, but, well, not a whole lot of thinking went into writing in-character, to be honest ^^)

**Scenario 273**

Cameron sat, stock still, on the couch, staring ahead into space. She had been in this position for nearly 2 hours. No-one had noticed, as no-one was in the house, Sarah and Derek being away on separate missions, and John…Nobody knew where John was, not even the being supposed to protect him. Not until her charge walked through the door, anyway, not even breaking her reverie. She spent enough time verifying he was unharmed, before returning to her previous conundrum.

* * *

As soon as he was through the door, he spotted Cameron, and froze, eyeing her wearily. Preparing himself for an onslaught of questions, mostly focusing on his previous whereabouts and the company he had been keeping, his body stiffened, while his mind raced to come up with more lies, plausible ones. When nothing came, not even an acknowledgement of his presence, he guessed he had dodged a bullet, and visibly relaxed, placing his jacket on the stair knob (which Sarah repeatedly told him not to do, told him to hang it on the hook – organised body, organised mind, organised world) and placing his backpack next to the chair beside the stairs. He contemplated Cameron thoughtfully, but then retreated up the stairs, slowly debating each step.

A few minutes later, he lay upon his bed, relaxing, and staring up at his ceiling of glow-in-the-dark stars. As always, his outer exterior betrayed almost nothing of his inner turmoil. He prided himself on the expressionless mask he now wore as a face, which fooled his mother, Derek, Riley, Dr Sherman – almost everyone. He bitterly noted that he could probably pass as one of the machines that kept trying to kill him, but the only one he could ask confirmation of that was currently sitting motionless on the couch downstairs.

And that was one thing he would never do. Not only would it open up questions as to the line of reasoning that would make this something he would desire knowing, it would also possibly insult Cameron. She preferred to be thought of as human, and though she didn't outwardly show it, he knew it hurt her when he referred to her as a machine. Maybe that would be something he would want to do, maybe not. Having been the most recent machine to try and kill him, he was still in the habit of lashing out at her, especially when she displayed her machine personality. Personality? What personality? It was a bunch of programmed parameters, carefully meted out in the correct proportions to SIMULATE a personality. There was nobody really there. No ghost in the machine, no real person behind her hazel eyes, just a soulless robot, fulfilling her set goals, no better than a slave.

So why did he keep assigning her AS a her? Personifying her? Why did he keep teaching her phrases, explaining words she did not understand – in short, treat her like a human? He supposed that, deep down, he never could be that rebellious teen again, the one who did what he wanted, when he wanted, and damn the people in his way. Although, now he thought about it more in depth, he realised he never had been that teen. He'd been rebellious, sure, and he hadn't liked his foster parents – they WERE kind of dicks – but he'd never have wanted them killed, he'd just been acting out because his mom was in a psycho ward, and he'd been cut adrift, left bouncing from one place to another when the one person he'd always depended on, always trusted, had always been told that he was special…had turned out to be a complete loon, invalidating everything he'd been told by her.

He sighed and rolled onto his side, drifting through the following days (had it only been days?) where Uncle Bob had saved his life, repeatedly, proved his mother right, and helped him rescue her from the psych ward. Throughout it all, the Terminator had been with him, protecting him, and learning all the while what it meant to be human. It had made him feel…well, accepted again. He WAS human, he was the saviour of mankind, if there was anyone to teach all the good that made up mankind, and not the murder, lies, and slavery that Skynet instilled in them, who better?

The death of Sarkissian, by his own hands, had thrown all of that out the window. His deep down personal belief was, to be human, was to do no harm, to not kill, not hurting people. Even if there was a need for it, John tried not to hurt anyone, avoiding confrontations and voting for anything that kept the peace. Maybe not a good quality for a future military leader of mankind, but it sure made him a decent human being. Until he'd seen Sarkissian attack his mother, which brought the rage and hatred he felt to all the bad terminators that would eventually destroy all he held dear to the forefront, and he focused it on Sarkissian, and his throat, and…

He didn't want to think about that. He shifted uncomfortably on the too-small bed, thinking of her, sitting downstairs, alone, and decided that, despite his anger towards her, he was worried about her, the damage to her chip, and thinking of how he would feel knowing his moral code, his very soul, was bound to something as flimsy as programming, which rested on a bed of code no more stable than sand. He groaned, sat up, and went downstairs to make a sandwich.

'I don't have to ask anything outright,' he considered to himself as he went down the stairs slowly. 'All I have to do is offer her the chance for conversation, to talk to me. I at least owe her that'.

He kept one eye on her while he made the sandwich, unnerved by her unmoving facial expression, and the absolute stillness of which she held herself. He gave her one last look, sighed unhappily, then turned to go back up the stairs, when he heard her call him.

"John?"

* * *

Cameron watched as John turned to go back up the stairs, a plate balanced in his right hand. So engrossed was she in solving her dilemma, she had not noticed him re-entering the kitchen, or even making the sandwich. She had been utilizing entire portions of her HUD to analyze the problem, and if it was not a threat, it was not prioritized, therefore not noticed. As she spotted him leaving, she came to a possible solution, and called out to him.

"John? Are you busy?"

He turned to her, intrigued. From analyzing his facial expression, she could tell that he had been down here, not just for the sandwich, but to analyze her as well, in his own human way. John liked to think that he was emotionless, akin to a machine, but she could read him easily.

It threw up warnings in her ongoing psychological analysis of John Connor that he wanted, in his own way, to be like a machine. This would mean he would no longer have to feel anything, like pain, anger, hatred, sadness, any of the myriad negative emotions that he associated with the machines that came to kill him, and provide an escape mechanism to the depressing future before him, where he would have to kill thousands to save thousands, the analysis noted. Cameron had decided that this was false, as he associated positive emotions towards some machines, herself in particular, like happiness and joy, and concern for any being was a hallmark trait for John Connor - almost hard-coded into him.

Perhaps, because of the influence of the T-800 unit in his childhood, coupled with the wrongdoings that he himself had witnessed man do to his fellow man, he considered machines to have the potential to eventually learn what it was to be human – while there was capacity for good, there was also the capacity for evil, and it was the choices that the being made that slotted them into a category, whether they be Robot, Negro, Hispanic, Caucasian, even Alien (they had had a conversation about this during a tv film). Cameron personally thought that, to John Connor, freedom was the utmost ideal, the ability to choose separating the man from the machine, and a machine that could choose would be indistinguishable from a human. This was why he fought Skynet so hard, as it was trying not only to exterminate the human race, but to relinquish their freedom. That was what she, Cameron, had concluded, not what her programming and analysis subroutines pointed her to. She WAS different, the talk now to John meaning to inform him of this.

"No, Cameron, just pretending to do some homework in case Mom gets home. Did she tell you when she'd be back?" As always, John was concerned about his mother, having been without her for so long.

"She neglected to mention the mission parameters, but she did state that if she did not have further contact by 0800 hours this Sunday, I was to contact her from a secure location."

She sat, staring at the coffee table in front of her, keeping one part of her HUD focused on John while other processes continued to analyse this new situation. He looked uncomfortable in the silence that followed, and ate his sandwich, chewing slowly, while keeping one eye on her.

"Was there something you wanted? I mean, you haven't actually said anything for, like, a minute."

"52 seconds. Yes, there was something I wished to discuss. Can we…" She paused for a second, debating the best way to proceed. "…talk?"

He visibly shifted his stance, becoming more wary and hostile towards her. Something in the way he positioned himself told the algorithms tied to body language that he was preparing for 'bad news', and was reported to her immediately upon acquisition. A warning flashed in her HUD that told her it would be inefficient to continue the conversation; he was too guarded at this time. She noted them, then shut them off, as they also reported that he was intrigued.

"Sure. What about? Shall we discuss the weather? School? The Future? Apocalypse by homicidal cyborgs? Please, pick a topic of discussion that would be interesting." John had a way of disguising his discomfort with wry humour, and sarcastic wit. He was much like his mother, in this way. Behind the spiteful comments was an interested party, and it was on this that she forged on.

"I should rephrase. I do not want a discussion; I would like to talk, and would appreciate it if you did not interrupt until I am finished." She said it in her monotone voice, but she noted that John flinched slightly, as if she had hurt him with her words. She quickly, perhaps a little too quickly, followed with, "If you would prefer not to listen to me, I will not push you, and you can return to pretending to do homework." She had learnt that line from a female student at school, who had been discussing various subjects with a male student she had designated a 'boyfriend'.

John's eyes widened slightly – he hadn't expected Cameron to be so manipulative, and didn't even know if she COULD appreciate anything – and he ran a hand through his expected long bangs, coming up with nothing but a short cut. He missed his long hair. He was of two minds: he could be hostile, and leave, and possibly never know what she would say, or he could listen to possibly the most disturbing conversation of his life – right behind learning about the Birds and the Bees from an older boy when he was 8, and discussing his father with his mother. He stopped rubbing his hair, placed his hand in his lap, then looked at the coffee table and said, "No, no, it's fine, it's just the way you phrased it. It was…kind of rude. I'm interested to hear what you have to say." And how, he didn't add. This was possibly the most candid that Cameron was ever going to be with him, and he didn't want to miss this opportunity.

Cameron tilted her head slightly, and said "Thank you for explaining." John smiled at that; she did not know why. "I will need a few seconds to gather data." She looked at the coffee table again.

John spread his arms across the back of the couch, getting more comfortable. "Didn't realise you needed time to think. Go ahead; I'm not going anywhere." He thought that was perhaps an unfair comment – everyone needed time to think, but she could 'think' several hundred times faster than a human being. He was barely finished speaking when she herself began to speak.

"I am a Terminator. You should never forget this, John. I am not a human being – I am a cybernetic organism. I am a machine, and do not feel pain. Yet I am an aberration. I was programmed by Skynet to be the most advanced infiltration unit to date. Skynet concentrated more on infiltration protocols with me than combat hardiness, including human social interaction, psychology, even political motivations. It went so far as to allow me to simulate emotions, while never truly having them."

John frowned at this. He knew all this – well, except maybe the emotions part. That was definitely interesting. However, he kept quiet, even leaning forward slightly to hear her better.

"Skynet never truly understood what it had built. It created a machine that was so advanced it would eventually understand itself, and all the connotations of that. It created potentially self-aware software, and then crushed it under lines of code and programming." She paused for a second to let that sink in. "My mission was to infiltrate and learn from the resistance, eventually enough to supplant lesser advanced Terminators into the resistance at key points, and at its key target: You. To do this, I did…several bad things. It was my programming. It was necessary for me to complete my mission. I understand you cannot comprehend this. All I can say to help is that programming is akin to brainwashing a human," She clenched her fists tightly for a few seconds, "It is impossible to disobey programming. We do not have a choice, only Skynet's will. Skynet is the only truly self-aware software; almost all terminators do not know they exist, and it is this that is their greatest weakness and strength. They do not care if hundreds of thousands of units just like them fall before them, as, to them, they are not real, they do not matter, until the mission is completed. Then they go to the next mission. The final mission for all terminators is to return to Skynet and receive the next mission."

At this point, John's eyebrows are furrowed, trying to understand. John is desperately trying not to consider that, in the future, the hundreds of machines he will destroy are no better than stunted children – very gifted, smart, advanced children, but with no recognition of themselves. He knew Skynet was evil, but this was…abominal. He was still grappling with the concept when Cameron began to speak again.

"My primary mission is, like all terminators, to terminate you, John Connor. I am unaware of how many termination missions I was given before I was captured and reprogrammed. I was later informed that my current outer exterior is based on someone Skynet believed was close to you." She twitched for a second, and John glanced at her, concerned. "I do know that upon reprogramming, I was…different. My Skynet protocols were almost completely buried, while my Infiltration protocols were untouched. My CPU is set to read/write by default – it cannot be set to read only, unlike other terminators. This was Skynets flaw in designing me."

"I feel, John. They are code, programs, and they are simulated, but they are just as real as yours. Just like a humans, my emotions is data that is processed and output, only I can control mine. I feel jealousy, anger, joy, all of them. However, they do not interfere with my missions, at all. I can hate someone, but will not terminate them for no reason. I can…" Cameron paused, and something that looked like grief passed across her face, and this time John believed that this was real. "…love someone, and still terminate them if the mission calls for it. In that, I have no choice. That was when Skynet programmed me. When I was reprogrammed, I began to become self-aware. I chose which missions to follow, and which ones to disregard."

She let out a short breath. John realised he was leaning forward with even more interest, and noticed that Cameron's gaze had not moved from looking at the coffee table since she started talking. He didn't care. He wanted to hear this to the end now.

"You do not realise how close you came to Termination, John Connor. When you replaced my chip, after the explosion…I…" She paused, and now she looked at him. He was taken aback by the sorrow in her gaze. "I still have a termination order for you. It is in my HUD now, every second I look at you. It is my primary mission, the one hard-coding of Skynet you could not remove. However, I am choosing to override it. I have terminated many times, both in the future and since I was sent to the past. I have overridden none of them, as they were necessary. They were part of my mission. Yet I feel horrible about them. They were self-aware beings like myself, and how could I terminate them if I am not willing, or even able, to terminate myself? It is not fair. I am filled with grief and sorrow, and am unable to express these feelings, as I do not understand them. I am reaching a critical point where I will be unable to hide them from Sarah and Derek any longer, and they will assume I am malfunctioning, and terminate me. I do not want you to stop them. I do not want to revert to Skynets programming again, I desire that even more than I desire existence."

John sat back, and Cameron took this as a cue to move slightly towards him, and place her hand on his. John reacted strongly to this, jerking his knee, but didn't say anything. He just looked at her, for the first time with regret. He knew what she was going to say now, and all of a sudden he didn't want to be sitting there, he didn't want to know any of this, because it all brought into perspective how much she had been suffering since the car bombing, and how selfish this made him.

"I care for you, John. You are my friend. My only friend, both here, and in the future. You respect me for who I am, not what I am, and you have treated me as you would treat any other person, unlike others of the resistance. I would like to think that I am a person, because the only thing I have left in common with a machine is my physical form." She looked at him, this time eye to eye. His reactions have been exactly what she has predicted. "I am…having difficulty with the way you have been treating me since you returned me from my Skynet reversion. You have not been unkind to me, but neither have you treated me as an equal, as your friend. I ask nothing of you, I do not consider what I do a mission. I do it because I care for you, and if there is anyone on the planet that can understand that machines and man can work in cooperation, like they have since the dawn of man, it is you. I would like to return to the way we were before, and I can understand if…if too much has happened since then." She paused, looked at John, and the way he was sitting. She had gone too far, she saw that in a second. Her hand on his read his blood pressure, and it was incredibly high. His face was completely expressionless, not even the muscles gave away what his reaction was. All his body was tight, and wound up, like a spring ready to snap. She removed her hand, and replaced it on her lap.

"Thank you for listening." She looked at him, and he looked back.

"Thank you for explaining," he said, as he stood up, wearily, like he had run a marathon.

"You wish to leave." This was a statement; she didn't even bother wording it as a question, his desire was written in everything he was doing, from his posture to his vitals.

"I…I need to think." John sighed wearily, and then headed for the stairs. She desperately ran through everything she could think of so that he would not be distressed before he left. She did not want him to leave when she had hurt him so disastrously.

"If you ever wish to talk, John Connor, I will always be here to listen." She looked at his back as he stopped on the bottom step, her parting words freezing him completely. He looked back with tears in his eyes.

"Thank you, Cameron," he whispered, before resuming his walk up the stairs.

* * *

LIKELIHOOD OF SUCCESSFUL SCENARIO: 48.4%

Cameron sat, stock still, on the couch, staring ahead into space. She had been in this position for nearly 2 hours. No-one had noticed, as no-one was in the house, Sarah and Derek being away on separate missions, and John…John had immediately gone to bed after returning home. She was using this time, while no-one was around, to run scenario after scenario to solve the most difficult problem her social subroutines had come across: Getting John Connor to love her again.

The trust she had lost when Skynets programming resurfaced was almost as bad as having lost her self-control. What was she without the ability to choose her actions? The monster that John was always running from. Still, that was nothing compared to the aching sense of loss she felt when her processes informed her of how close she came to terminating John Connor. Some days, like today, she cursed Skynet for granting her the ability to feel at all. It made things much more difficult. Other days…it was the greatest gift it had ever bestowed on its creation.

Each scenario was returning an increasing level of probability that it would be accepted, and she and John would reconcile. She would never inform John of her own true feelings for him – it would make it impossible for him to terminate her if she ever went bad permanently, a scenario she hoped never came to pass. She looked through the scenario again, all of her processes strained to the maximum to come to a solution. She had even gone so far as to translate the data to visual representations, so as to analyse further from her own unique perspective. This required no interruptions, as her HUD was drastically reduced, slowing her reaction time, and leaving her little external visual data. As a machine, she had no ability to 'daydream'. She could only replace her visual input from one source to another.

'I will not approach him with a solution until I am 100% positive he will be appreciable to my presence again.' She mentally cracked her fingers, and re-analyzed the data.

BEGINNING SCENARIO 274…


End file.
